The Power of Two
by smaugholmeswatson
Summary: In a world where Pokemon and Human's live peacefully, it comes as a shock when three pokemon are found brutally murdered. At a lose Lestrade calls in Sherlock Holmes to help solve it. Things quickly escalate when a dangerous old enemy attacks. Will Sherlock be able to stop them or will this case prove too much for him.
1. Yet another crime scene

The Vulpix is the second pokemon to have been found dead in the last week and questions are beginning to be asked. The first death had been put down to natural causes because there was nothing to suggest otherwise but once more bodies had turned up alarm bells had started to ring. Discussions had been held behind closed doors to no avail because no one could think of a reason why someone was going around and presumably murdering pokemon. It had taken three more bodies, one of them belonging to a member of the British Goverment, for Greg Lestrade to finally be allowed to open an official investigation. Though this of course has not been without its problems because the Government are demanding quick results and this case is already proving to be one of the trickiest we have faced.

I have to admit that I feel a little sorry for Greg. There is a hell of a lot of pressure on him to solve this case and Sherlock is hardly being helpful. We received a call summoning us to the crime scene over an hour and a half ago and Sherlock still has not turned up. I have no idea where he is either because all he said to me was that he had something he needed to do first. Naturally this meant we got into a blazing arguement before Sherlock stomped out, slamming the door behind him. It isn't my fault we're having to investigate murders which involve Pokemon. Off to one side of the scrubby wasteground where the lastest body was found the forensic sciencetists are milling around with expressions of boredom on their faces. Until Sherlock arrives and examines the body they will not be able to leave. Already they have begun to mutter darkly under their breaths. For once I actually find myself agreeing with them. Out in the open the heat of the sun is unbearable, despite Charizard's attempts to shield me with his wings I am still sweating. If Sherlock does not arrive soon I am pretty sure I am going to melt. The only protection from the sun is the white tent the forensics team set up but since the dead Vulpix is under there (dead bodies decompose quicker in hot weather) I plan to stay away from it for as long as I possibly can. Beside me I am aware of Greg glancing towards his team and sighing. I remain quiet and continue to stare off in the direction Sherlock should approach from when he eventually arrives.

About five minutes later (though it feels a hell of a lot longer) Sherlock finally arrives, his tall form shimmering slightly in the heat haze as he walks towards the crime scene. His presence is announced by a loud shriek from Lestrade's Pidgeotto who has been hovering high above us and keeping watch. With a relieved expression on his face Greg held out his arm for his Pidgeotto to land on before turning to greet Sherlock. "You took your bloody time didn't you? I called for you ages ago." He says, his voice laced with barely concealed anger.

Sherlock's blue eyes regard him indifferently; already looking bored even though he has only just arrived. Though I told him not to Sherlock is still wearing his long black coat which is hardly weather appropriate. God knows how he isn't being roasted alive! I'm wearing a short sleeved shirt and even I'm feeling the heat. "Sorry I would have been here earlier but Mycroft wanted to see me for a chat about getting a Pokemon. By now I would have thought he would have given up." He rolls his eyes. "Believe me I would have preferred to have been here." He says before turning his attention to me. He stares at me without emotion, indicating that he has not forgotten our earlier fight. "Well now that I'm here we may as well get on with it." Pushing back Greg Sherlock ducks into the cool interior of the tent without another word.

I wince. Apparently I really pissed him off earlier. With an apologetic smile (Greg shrugs to show that it's no big deal) I follow Sherlock, grateful to get away from the sun's bright rays. Gingerly I pull my sodden shirt away from my skin and duck into the shade. Instantly the smell hits me, sending me reeling back with a hand pressed against my mouth. Christ, Greg had told me it was bad but I had not imagined anything like this. It was pungent and sickly and seemed to be coming from everywhere. Despite my years of experience dealing with dead bodies both human and Pokemon I find myself swallowing down bile. I wish I hadn't eaten breakfast now. Breathing through my mouth to reduce the potency of the smell I hesistantly walk over to Sherlock who is already intently examining the body. I have no idea how he can stand to be so close. Behind me Charizard huffs, sending a cloud of white smoke spiralling into the air. I smile and reach up to briefly stroke his orange scales before I force myself to bend down beside Sherlock and get up close to the body.

Like the other crime scenes there are no obvious outwards signs to show exactly why the Vulpix is dead. No wounds and no signs of blood. It is baffling everybody because technically the Pokemon appear to be totally healthy and are simply, apparently randonly, dropping dead for no reason. A long moment of silence passes. I do not think Sherlock will thank me if I begin to ask questions and so I wait to be addressed. Finally he straightens up with a sigh with an unreadable expression on his face and stares over my shoulder with blank eyes, indicating he is thinking over the case in hand. Curious to find out what he thinks I clear my throat. "So do you have any ideas yet?" I prompt a little hesistantly, half expecting to get my head bitten off.

Sherlock blinks a few times before he turns to face me. "Yes as a matter of fact John I do. As you have probably already noticed, (I hadn't but I wasn't about to admit that to him), there is one very obvious detail the police have managed to miss. This Pokemon is not in fact in perfect health. If you look here," He says, bending down again and carefully parting the Vulpix's orange fur, "you will see a number of deep puncture wounds which look as though they have been made by something with long, sharp claws." Sherlock explains, rising to his full height and removing his gloves.

I lean in for a better look, pressing a hand against my mouth to block out the worst of the smell. Sherlock is right; on the Vulpix's chest is several jagged wounds. What is odd about them is that there does not appear to be any blood, something I would have expected considering the obvious violence behind the murders. Behind me Charizard yowls and lightly nudges me with his nose. I glance back at him and am surprised to see concern and uncertainty in the dragon Pokemon's mint green eyes. "What's wrong Char?" I ask, wishing to get to the bottom of why Charizard could be feeling distressed. I do not think it can be just the crime scene either because when we first arrived he seemed perfectly at ease. Charizard huffs out a few sparks and bares his teeth. Almost immediatly Sherlock begins to edge away from the Pokemon with wide, almost feaful eyes. I sigh and gently guide Charizard towards the opening of the tent. Maybe one day Sherlock will learn how to trust Pokemon again. He's never told me exactly what happened but I do know he almost died when he was a child. Aside from that though he has remained quiet about the whole thing. Maybe it would be best if I distract him by asking him about his theory, that way he can concetrate on something other than the fact Charizard is acting a little edgy. "So Sherlock, what do you think the actual cause of death was then? The puncture wounds don't look deep enough to have killed the Vulpix."

Sherlock shakes his head. "Nothing natural that's for sure." He replies, looking thoughful. He begins to pace, occasionally pausing in order to gaze down at the Vulpix. "As far as I can tell without conducting specialised tests the Pokemon appears to have been drained of its life force, the very essence which allows all living creatures to exist. I'll need to take a look at my Pokedex to determine whether there are any Pokemon cabable of doing such..." The rest of his sentence is drowned out by a roar from Charizard. I jump and take a few steps back. For once I am feeling a little scared about the creature who fights by my side and I realise just how weak we humans are in comparison. If Charizard wanted he could easily destroy Sherlock and I.

Lestrade goes rushing into the tent when he hears the commomtion and skids to the stop when he sees Charizard and the threatening behaviour he is displaying. "What the hell is the matter with your Pokemon John?" He asks, reaching up to lay a comforting hand on his Pidgeotto who appears unsettled by the way Charizard is acting.

I am not entirely sure how to reply because I have never known him to act this way before. I go to stroke Charizard's scales but he backs away from me with a loud snort and shakes his head. "Ssh Char, it's okay." I say in an attempt to reassure him. Charizard ignores me however and continues to back away from the body of the Vulpix towards the mouth of the tent. Greg has to hastily leap out of the way to prevent himself from being trampled. The moment Charizard is out in the fresh air he calms down a little and some of the tension in his body slowly begins to drain away. I frown at him. Could it have been something about the body which had made him react like that? I glance back down at it but am unable to notice anything other than what Sherlock has already pointed out. I sigh and run a hand through my hair. Hopefully Sherlock will be able to get to the bottom of this. Without another word to me Sherlock walks out of the tent (making sure to give Charizard a wide berth) and goes over to Greg who looks at him hopefully.

"So, any ideas as to who could be behind these killings?" Greg asks, sounding a little hesistant as though he is not sure if he wants to hear the answer. His face falls when Sherlock shakes his head. "But I need something concrete to report to the Government tonight. They're threatening to take me off the case if I don't make a breakthrough soon." Instead of answering him or trying to be reassuring Sherlock turns his back and walks off across the wasteground back towards the sky-scrapers of the city in the distance. "But you're supposed to be the best." Greg continues in a voice too quiet for Sherlock to hear. My heart goes out to him. Sometimes Sherlock can be incredibly infuriating to work with.

I go across to him and stand beside him. I am aware of Charizard following me but I don't say anything to him. Because of how he was acting Sherlock, if possible, seems more annoyed with me than he was before. At this rate it will be several days before the tension leaves our relationship and life can go back to normal. "Don't worry. As soon as he has something concrete I'm sure he'll share it with you." I reassure him.

Greg massages his forehead with his fingertips and lets out a weary sounding sigh. "I hope you're right John, dear god I hope you're right. I haven't been able to sleep knowing there is something or someone out there murdering Pokemon." As he says this he reaches up to stroke Pidgeotto's brown feathers. I, and every other owner of a Pokemon in London, know exactly how he is feeling. Greg grinds his teeth together. "And with the Government piling the pressure on..." He stops when Pidgeotto rests her head on his. A smile spreads across his face, though it has faded a little by the time he has turned back to me. "I'm sorry for moaning, it was unprofessional of me."

"It's fine, I understand. This case is beginning to get to everyone I think. Earlier Sherlock and I had a bit of an arguement about how he shouldn't be wondering around London without a Pokemon to protect him." I tell Greg, turning away from him to watch a small group of walkers who have slowed down in order to gawp at the crime scene.

"I thought things were a little strained between the two of you." He says a little distractedly. Like me he has also spotted the walkers. He rolls his eyes in my direction. "Oh for god sakes, not more of them. Pidgeotto go and start to drive them away, I'll be over in a moment." He waits for the Pokemon to leave before he addresses me once more. "Thanks for your help John. If you or Sherlock find out the thing behind this please don't hesistate to give me a call okay?" He says before striding off in the direction of the small group of people who have already begun to flee from the divebombing Pidgeotto. I silently wish him luck and hurry off after Sherlock who, despite the intense heat, has managed to get quite a way ahead.

It takes me a few minutes to catch up with him and when I do I clear my throat to announce my presence. Sherlock doesn't even bother to look round and I feel a momentary wave of anger rise within me before I hastily push it away. "Sherlock, do you really have no idea what Pokemon could be behind the murders?" I ask, not believing that Sherlock, he who is so observant, can have no idea as to what is going on.

Sherlock shakes his head. Huh, maybe he really doesn't have any idea then... "I told both you and Lestrade the truth. Until I can search through my Pokedex I am as much in the dark as you are." He explains. There is a slight, just detectable edge to his voice which hints that he might not be telling the whole truth. I'm not going to push him though because it is an improvement to have him talking to me again after this morning. The corner of Sherlock's mouth quirks up in a small smile. "You know I hope we can find a taxi because I don't fancy walking across the city in this heat." Says the man wearing a heavy, woollen coat. Sometimes I question whether Sherlock is entirely human.

Thankfully we manage to find one and in under half an hour we are back in the air conditioned coolness of the flat where an army of rotating fans struggle to keep away the intense heat. The instant we are through the door Sherlock throws off his coat and unbuttons his suit jacket while I open the windows in an attempt to disperse some of the heat. I don't expect it to work though and glance sheepishly over at Charizard whose flaming tail is already raising the temperature within the room by several degrees. I could send him to wait outside but that would be mean because it's not his fault he's a fire type Pokemon. With a loud sigh of relief (the idiot should not have worn a woollen coat) Sherlock collapses down into his armchair and reaches down for his Pokedex which, after having been left on all morning, will probably be low on charge. The displeased expression written plainly on his face tells me that my guess is most likely correct. Never the less instead of searching for the charger he begin tapping away on the screen. Turning my back to go into the kitchen I leave him to it because he will be absorbed in searching for as long as the battery holds out.

Around about twenty minutes later, after having made and drank several cups of tea, I reboil the kettle and make one for Sherlock, figuring that it is about time he had a break. As I walk back into the living room Sherlock glances up at me and places the Pokedex carefully to one side. "Thankyou." He says with an edge in his voice. I frown at him, wondering what could be wrong. He eventually notices the look because he rolls his eyes at me. "So far I have been unable to identify what Pokemon could be behind the murders." He explains, looking back down at the milky brown liquid in the cup I have just given him. "There are so many to look through..." His voice trails off.

I smile down at him. "Well, if it's going to take a while I could always help." I offer, reaching down to pick up the Pokedex. Instead of merely sighing as I expect him to, Sherlock grabs my wrist tightly and forcibly pulls the Pokedex from my grip. In the process of doing this he manages to spill most of the boiling hot tea in the cup onto his lap. Swearing loudly he jumps up, bangs his cup down on a nearby table and rushes in the direction of his bedroom, all the while still cursing loudly. Well that had been a little dramatic. What is up with Sherlock today? Ever since Lestrade first informed us of the murders he has been jumpy and on edge which leads me to believe he knows more than he is telling us. Though maybe that isn't it. Lately Sherlock has been forced to spent quite a bit of time working in close proximitry with Pokemon. Though he has never told me the whole story I do know that he was attacked by a Gyarados as a child and because of this has always been wary around Pokemon. I can't say I really blame him. Wild Pokemon can be vicious at times... I glance over at Charizard and feel a smile spread across my face. Despite this I do not know how I would cope without Charizard, especially through the years when I was fighting in Afghanistan... I am shaken from my thoughts by a quiet vibrating noise which is quickly followed by a shrill ringing. I frown. Odd, we aren't expecting any phone calls. After a brief frantic search I find the phone inside the microwave (don't ask) and after glancing down the corridor to see whether Sherlock was coming (he wasn't which meant I would have to answer the phone) press the answer button. "Hello you have reached the phone of Sherlock Holmes. Unfortuatly he isn't able to get to the phone right now so please feel free to leave a message which..." Before I can finish however the person on the other end of the line cuts me off. Feeling annoyed but determined not to show it I listen in silence to the person, turning to stare out of the window as I do so. Outside the sky is gradually turning a deep golden pink as the sun begins to sink towards the horizon.

"There's been another Pokemon murder." It's odd but I swear the voice and it's pleasant lilt before. Though I rack my brains I am unable to pinpoint where I might have heard it before. "I know that Mr Holmes is currently involved in the case and thought he was be interested to hear about it. If he wishes to investigate the body is near Battersea Power Station. I have already informed the police and they should be there soon." After this the voice is silent and it takes me several long moments to realise they have hung up.

Well that was rather rude and a little odd as well. Though I can't say exactly what is making me uneasy I can sense something is not right. Obviously Charizard feels the same because he walks over and yowls until I reach up and stroke his scales. "I know Char. I'm sure everything will turn out alright." Before I can say anything else to him Sherlock walks back into the kitchen wearing a clean shirt. His blue eyes narrow and he glances towards me. I should have known he would instantly pick up on the tense atmosphere present in the room. His gaze goes to the phone still clutched in my hand and I see realisation dawn.

"Where?" He asks over his shoulder as he heads back into the living room. Reluctantly I follow him, watching him pull on his heavy black coat and preparing to leave as soon as I tell him the location. Outside the sun is just about to disappear behind the rooftops. Soon night will fall and I have learnt from experience that after dark is not a time to go wondering around the capital. Sherlock rolls his eyes at me. "Come on John, stop staring into space and tell me the location." He says, sounding more than a little annoyed.

"Battersea Power Station." I answer, searching for something I know I put down in here earlier. Really our flat could do with a decent tidy but with both of us so busy trying to solve the Pokemon murders there simply has not been time, and since Mrs Hudson found thumbs in the fridge she refuses to have anything to do with the place. As a result nearly every avaliable surface is buried beneath mountains of rubbish. With a sigh I half-heartedly shift through piles of paper stacked up on a nearby table, not really expecting to find what I am looking for. I am pleasantly surprised therefore when I see the red and white of a Pokeball at the very bottom of the pile. Picking it up I absentmidedly toy with it. Even though Greg and his team will be there it can not hurt for Sherlock to take a Pokemon with him for extra protection. Feeling a little awkward (because I know how much Sherlock dislikes Pokemon) I clear my throat. "Sherlock before you go..." I trail off when he glances round, sees the Pokeball in my hand and starts to shake his head.

"For goodness sake John, how many times do I have to say this? I do not need a Pokemon following me about every hour of the day. For one thing it's an annoyance and also they tend to scare away people when I want to talk to them." Sherlock snaps angrily, his blue eyes flashing.

Ordinarily when he is like this I would have backed down long before now but today I feel uneasy after that rather odd phone call and simply am not happy about sending Sherlock off alone to Battersea. I would have liked to gone with him but I have a prior engagement involving friends which I have to attend. If I do not they have threatened to abandon me and no offence to Sherlock here he really does not make a very good friend sometimes. I need some outside people I can turn to. "Please Sherlock...at least take one with you until we know what Pokemon is behind the murders. It would put my mind at rest." I implore, praying Sherlock will see sense for once and will not insist on being stubbon.

To my relief he sighs in resignation. "Fine," He agrees, "I'll take a Pokemon with me." He then proceeds to tap his foot against the carpet while I hastily summon Growlithe who lightly butts my head with a slight yowl before he pads over to Sherlock's side. "Don't bother waiting up for me John, I don't know when I'll be back." He says as he walks out of the door with Growlithe close behind him. Apparently he has forgotten that I am also going out tonight. With a weary sigh I gesture towards Charizard.

"Come on Char, let's get going." I tell him as I pull on my coat. Hopefully a night out with friends will help shake off the bad feeling I still have about that phone call. I would not be out late, probably only till about midnight. If Sherlock is not home by two at the latest I will phone Mycroft and see what he says. With this final thought I leave the flat, making sure to close and lock the door behind me.


	2. Battersea Power Station

When Sherlock arrived at Battersea Power Station it was to find the place completely deserted with no sign the Metropolitan Police had yet arrived. This was odd considering how eager Lestrade had been earlier in the day to solve the murders...maybe he was delayed in traffic. Remembering what he had learnt from the Pokedex Sherlock began to get the strongest feeling something was not right. Though there was no evidence or logical reason for how he was feeling Sherlock was nevertheless careful as he picked his way over piles of discarded rubble and scrubby patches of grass, making a slow circuit of the building. Every now and then he glanced up at the four enormous chimneys towering high overhead. On one occasion when he looked up Sherlock could have sworn he saw a flash of electric blue, but because night was rapidly falling he could not be entirely certain that his eyes were not playing tricks on him. He glanced down. Beside him Growlithe was tense but so far had not shown any signs that it was alarmed. Sherlock came to the conclusion that, for the moment at least, he was not in any immediate danger. Sherlock continued his search, gradually drawing ever closer as he did so to the gaping hole in the side of the power station which opened into the building's pitch black interior. He stopped about a metre away and peered inside. With his poor eyesight and hearing it was impossible for him to tell if anything was lurking inside waiting to strike. He looked at Growlithe who stared back at him. "Can you hear anything?" He asked, feeling daft to be addressing the Pokemon like it was a fellow human.

Feeling annoyed at himself Sherlock pushed past the Pokemon and cautiously went closer to the gaping hole, pausing for a moment in order to listen for any sounds coming from out of the darkness. He was unable to hear anything but that did not mean that something was waiting inside, watching him intently and preparing to strike. Up above him the sky was turning a dull grey, the sun having long since dropped beneath the horizen, and the temperature was rapidly dropping as a result. A shiver ran down Sherlock's spine and he wrapped his coat more tightly about himself. It was unseasonably cold for this time of year, especially after such a hot day, and he found himself beginning to grow uneasy as a result. Something was not right here. Lestrade and his team still had not arrived and Sherlock wondered whether the Metropolitan Police even knew about the crime scene. He reached into his pocket for his phone and froze when he heard a low growl from behind him. He glanced over his shoulder. Growlithe was crouched down with hackles raised and teeth bared, its ear pressed flat against its skull. Sherlock turned back to the power station but the darkness, if possible, was even more impentrable than before. A blast of freezing air skittered across the wasteground, causing his long coat to move around his ankles. There was a feeling of something electrical in the air, as though a thunderstorm was brewing. Growlithe growled again and a small rope of flame began to coil around it. Whatever the Pokemon could sense was evidently bad if it was already preparing itself for a fight. Sherlock made to step forward into the darkness but stopped when Growlithe moved into his path, yowling quietly as it did so. Despite the anger he was most likely in Sherlock felt anger flare through him.

"I don't what you are growling at you daft cat. As far as I can tell there is no-one here but us." Sherlock snapped, his voice echoing in the quiet air. "I shall do one more rotation of the building and then we can go back to Baker Street." He continued, shaking off Growlithe's paw. He knew he should not be angry at the Pokemon but he was annoyed at himself for falling for what was obviously a hoax- him, the great Sherlock Holmes- being fooled by something so glaringly obvious. He winced, John would not let him forget this for a very long while. Muttering to himself he stalked off towards a patch of scrubby grass, intending to examine it for footprints, but was distracted by a loud scared squeak from off to his right. Sherlock jumped and hastily headed towards the source of the noise. When he got there he bent down and carefully parted the grass around the base of a broken lamp-post. A tiny orange Pokemon with wide black eyes and the cutest face imaginable stared up to him in terror. Sherlock smiled and carefully lowered himself down so his face was level with it. The Pokemon backed away slightly and Sherlock noticed a nasty gash running across it's side and the dried blood matted into the Pokemon's fur. "It's okay little one, I'm not going to hurt you." Sherlock said softly, motioning for Growlithe to join him. The Pokemon, a Dedenne if he was correct, began to shake. Withour pausing to think about his next move Sherlock reached out a hand towards the Dedenne. Cautiously it sniffed his fingers before placing a tiny paw in his hand and looking up at him with trust in it's black eyes. Tenderly Sherlock picked the Pokemon up, cradling it in his arms. Judging from the state it was in it was likely the Dedenne did not have a trainer, a fact that gave Sherlock a sense of responsibility for the creature. He felt it was up to him to make sure no more harm could come to it. Lightly he stroked between the Dedenne's ears. "It's okay now little one. I won't let anything hurt you." He reassured it. The Dedenne squeaked in response and burrowed deeper into his arms.

Work in progress


End file.
